


Someone's Daughter

by disturbedbydesign



Series: Deviance [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Consensual Violence, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fucking The Pain Away, Gunplay, Hop Is An Alcoholic Pill Popping Misogynist With Anger Issues, Misogyny, Sex Work, Slurs, This Is... Aggressively Violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbedbydesign/pseuds/disturbedbydesign
Summary: Misogynist!Hop has staggering anger management issues and pays an escort to help him work through it.





	

The phone wakes Hopper from a dead sleep. His head is pounding and he’s sick to his stomach but it’s not just from the booze. He knows who’s on the other end of that phone. Nothing pressing ever happens in Hawkins and it’s far too early for it to be anyone other than her.

“It’s 6:30 in the goddamn morning, Diane.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I thought you’d be up for work.”

“Hopper lights a cigarette and says, “What do you want?”

He shouldn’t be short with her but he doesn’t much care at this hour when the light is hitting him like daggers and that spot behind his eye is throbbing: a constant thud thud thud, like it’s tallying last night’s drinks.

“It’s just… I have to tell you something.”

“Jesus, just say what you want to say, alright?”

“I’m pregnant.” She says it like it’s a bad thing. “I’m sorry, Jim. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”

Hopper feels nothing and says nothing for what seems like ages.

“Jim?” she says. “Are you there?”

“Congratulations,” he says, curt and monotone, and hangs up with much more force than is necessary.

He doesn’t want to be angry with her anymore. He’s been through it more times than he can count—the divorce, when she started dating Bill, when she fucking married him—but this? This is a different kind of betrayal. She’s not betraying him; she’s betraying Sara, and that is something he can’t forgive and won’t forget.

_You filthy fucking bitch. How dare you?_

Hopper feels a new kind of rage, one that’s going to eat him alive if he doesn’t do something about it. He looks at the clock and laughs.

“Fuck it.”

He gets an ice-cold beer from the fridge and takes it down like medicine.

Sometimes Hopper hates women in a way he knows he shouldn’t. He never used to be this way—not entirely, anyway—but these days he can’t shake the thought that women are the root of all the evil in his world. He’d like to be the kind of guy that isn’t constantly angry at his ex-wife for moving on with her life but he just isn’t. No, in this moment, he truly hates her. He has one of those thoughts he’s been having more and more of lately—the scary ones he thinks but doesn’t really mean.

_I hope she loses this one, too._

He instantly hates himself for the fact he could even form a thought like that and he grabs the pill bottle off the table. He examines the recommended dosage and doubles it, washing it down with Schlitz, and falls back onto the couch. The clock reads 7:00 now and it’s time to get up but he can’t move. His mind is racing with increasingly violent scenes playing out and by the time he drags himself to the shower he can feel the rage in his bones.

One Irish coffee and a half pack of smokes later and he’s at his desk, staring into space, praying nobody does anything stupid today so everybody will leave him the fuck alone. Flo knows better than to bother him right now—one look at his face when he’d walked into the station was enough to keep her off his back, at least for a little while. He leans back in his chair and puts his hat over his face. Nap time.

He’s half-conscious when the knocking starts.

“Go awaaaaay.”

“Chief.” It’s Flo’s voice, and it’s like nails on a chalkboard to him.

He yells, “I SAID-”

Flo interrupts him with her no-nonsense tone. “Go away. Yes. I heard you. Can we just skip to the part where you open the door and pretend to do your job?”

He puts his hat on and straightens it. “Come on in.”

She opens the door with that look of disapproval he’s become accustomed to.

“Someone better be dead,” he says.

She clicks her tongue at him and the sound crawls under his skin.

“There’s some graffiti over at the library—nasty stuff. You’d better get over there.”

“I think Frick and Frack can handle a little spray paint, don’t you?”

Her face is serious and a little bit sad. “It’s bad, Jim.”

“Bad how?”

Flo tells the Chief what she knows. He sighs and heaves himself out of his chair.

“Alright,” he says. “I’m on it.”

***

“Who would do such a thing? He’s a little kid, for heaven’s sake.”

“Exactly,” he says. “It’s just dumb kid stuff, Marissa, ok? We’ll get a guy over here with a pressure washer and that’ll be the end of it.”

“You’re really just going to let this go?” she asks. “What about Joyce? Are you even going to tell her?”

“No,” he says, and he looks at her with a little bit of menace in his eyes, “and neither are you.”

“It’s gonna get out, Jim. I’m sure it already has.”

Hopper lights a cigarette and stares at the back of the library. In big, white letters, “WILL BYERS IS A FAG” mars the red brick. The kid can’t be more than, what? Nine? Ten? It’s a little early for this kind of thing but Hopper knows that cruelty starts early in boys, and it doesn’t always go away with age.

“Look,” he says, “it’s not the first time some punk has given Joyce’s kid a hard time.”

“A hard time?” she says, incredulous. “This is what you consider ‘a hard time’? It’s not right, Jim. It’s hateful.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” he yells. “Drag every idiot kid in this town into the station?”

“Last time I checked that was your job,” she says. “Just take care of it, Jim. This is ugly and I don’t want it here one second longer than it needs to be.”

“I’ll have it cleaned up today, ok? A few hours, tops.”

She crosses her arms and looks at him like she just smelled shit.

“You should get back to work,” he says. “Those books aren’t going to stack themselves.”

He tips his hat to her and she calls him an asshole. He mutters “bitch” under his breath and he means it.

He could go to the hardware store and ask if any kids bought white spray paint recently. He could go to the middle school and ask Will’s teachers if they know who likes to fuck with him. He could do a lot of things, but instead he drives back to the station, gets Flo to call the sanitation department, and retires to his office. He thinks about hate-fucking the bitch librarian until he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

***

That night he drinks more than his usual too much. He doesn’t want to think about Diane so, of course, she is all he can think about—her and that… _thing_ inside her. He wonders if she actually wants it or if she’s just having it for Bill’s sake. Somehow Hopper manages to stop himself from calling her in the middle of the night. Instead, he paces in his living room and talks to her like she’s there.

“Must be nice,” he says, “to be able to just pick up the pieces and move on and be happy. Must be nice to forget about us and get a do-over. Way to go on Bill, by the way. I mean, could you have picked a bigger pussy? Better for you, though. I’m sure he’ll let you boss his ass around and bitch and nag and you’ll win every argument until the day you put him in the ground. Oh, and the replacement kid is a nice finishing touch on this big fat FUCK YOU, JIM I’m getting. Your life is just fucking perfect, isn’t it? Good for you, you traitorous bitch. I hope it’s a girl and she hates you.”

He throws a half-full beer against the wall, grabs a couch cushion, and screams into it until his throat cracks under the strain. He can’t find his sleeping pills so he takes down some whiskey instead.

***

He’s in his old house, in his old bedroom, hiding in the closet and watching Diane through the slats. She’s standing in front of the mirror in her wedding dress. It’s the dress she wore when she married him, but this time he’s not the groom. Diane turns to the side, examining herself in profile and holding the swell of her belly. She looks content. It makes him angry.

He watches himself throw open the door of the closet and she screams when she sees him coming at her. He tackles her to the ground and gets on top of her, his thighs clamped around her so she can’t move her arms. He can feel his weight crushing her stomach and he watches himself wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze. Bill is there but he’s frozen in place, powerless to stop what’s happening. He smiles at Bill and then watches as the life leaves Diane’s eyes. A small spot of red starts to bloom on her wedding gown and suddenly the room is awash in blood. It’s in his eyes and his nose and his mouth—dark blood, dead blood. He tries to scream and he chokes on it.

He wakes up covered in sweat and bleeding from the mouth. He’d taken a chunk out of the inside of his cheek and now his jizz-stained couch is bloodstained, too. He’s had nightmares before, but never one like this. Once he’s breathing regular again and gets his heart rate in check, he walks out into the cold night air and lights a smoke. He knows now that something inside him is broken and probably can’t be fixed. He can’t come back from a nightmare like that. He can’t unsee what he did. He can’t forget how good it felt to hurt her.

_I don’t want to kill my wife. I don’t want to hurt her child._

He keeps telling himself that, over and over, and it’s true, but he needs to hit something or someone and very, very soon.

***

It’s easier than it should be to get a hooker in Hawkins at 2:00 in the morning. Exotic Temptations escort service is, apparently, a 24/7 establishment with an ample selection of ladies ready to service him at this ungodly hour. He’s asked for a blonde who’s up for a little good-natured roughhousing because he’s feeling mean and needs to take it out on a warm, willing body. He hates that he needs a woman in his bed tonight, that he can’t get the kind of release he needs without some cooze he has to pay for the pleasure. But he couldn’t come by his own hand right now if he tried. No, the only thing that will put him to sleep is a good, hard fuck.

She arrives relatively quickly, accompanied by a large man who makes his presence known and then goes to wait in the car. She isn’t inside for more than a minute before she sees his badge on the table and starts to panic. She starts to run for the door and he almost grabs her arm to stop her but thinks better of it at the last minute. He puts his hands up—a conciliatory gesture—and it pisses him off to have to do it but it’s a necessary evil if he’s going to convince this girl he’s not a complete psychopath.

“Relax,” he says. “This isn’t a bust. I’m just looking for a good time, that’s all. I’ll pay you double.”

She’s got her hand on the front doorknob, ready to bolt, but she doesn’t.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t,” he says, “but there’s a get out of jail free card in it for your discretion.” He gives her his most charming smile. “Cops need love too, you know.”

“Triple,” she says.

“Not on a cop’s salary, darlin’.”

She starts to walk toward him and she’s still wary but he knows he’ll be able to charm her.

“Look,” he says, “I can get pussy for free whenever I want it.”

“I’ll bet,” she says, giving him a quick up-and-down.

“It’s just that I’ve got certain… let’s call them _needs_ that your average woman isn’t particularly helpful with.”

“And what is it that you need, Officer?”

“It’s Chief,” he says.

She smiles. “Ok, Chief. My name is-”

“I don’t give a shit what your name is, doll. I’m gonna call you Diane and you’re gonna call me Sir.”

She nods. She doesn’t seem fazed by this, which bodes well for what he’s about to ask for next.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “I’m going to get out my handcuffs and my gun—it isn’t loaded, you can check if you want to—and you’re going to get naked and spread ‘em against that wall over there. Then I’m going to handcuff you and slap you around a little and fuck you very hard and say a lot of not-so-nice things to you. You good with that?”

Her face is fearless but her body language is betraying her.

“How hard do you hit?” she asks.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, but that’s a lie. The real truth is that he doesn’t want her to care if he hurts her. “I don’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, ok? That’s not what this is about. I asked for a girl who likes it rough so if that’s not you-”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Just don’t fucking bite me.”

“That’s not really my thing,” he replies. “But I’m pulling the fuck out of your hair whether you like it or not.”

She laughs a little and he doesn’t particularly care whether or not it’s an act because it’s convincing. This bitch is willing to take the punishment that Diane deserves and he’s almost grateful to her. It helps that she’s incredibly fuckable—blue eyes, big tits, tan and lean. She’s easily an 8 and could be bumped up to a 9 if that pussy’s tight and she fucks as good as he wants her to.

She runs her hands across his bare chest and down his arms to his hands. She examines the scars and cuts and scabs around his knuckles with some concern.

“No choking,” she adds. “Please.”

Hop hadn’t really thought about it until she brought it up, but now that he’s looking at her long, pale neck up close, it does have a certain allure. A part of him feels like maybe it would give him the closure he needs—some sort of twisted bookend to the nightmare that set this ball rolling. She said no, though, and he’s promised himself, and her, that he won’t cross whatever boundaries she sets. He’s also not nearly sure he wouldn’t kill her by accident. Sometimes, when he’s got the rage in his veins, he forgets just how strong he is. He could snap her neck fucking her and not even notice she’s dead.

“Alright,” he says, “no choking.”

***

Her safeword is applesauce, not that he remembers it more than a few minutes after she tells him. He’s far too busy playing bad cop with her naked body pressed against the wall of his doublewide. She’s got her hands up and her legs spread and he’s groping her everywhere, and after a cursory cavity search, he yanks her arms down off the wall.

“Hands behind your back,” he says, and he cuffs her tighter than he should. “Turn around.”

“Yes, Sir,” she says, and she does as he commands.

For the first time in what seems to him like ages he feels like he’s in control. He reaches for his service weapon.

“Open your mouth,” he says, and when she does he traces her mouth with the barrel’s edge.

“Stick out your tongue.”

He pushes the gun into her mouth slowly, until her teeth hit the trigger guard.

“Suck it like you suck Bill’s cock, Diane.”

She takes it like a consummate professional and all the while he’s letting his grief’s anger speak through him.

_You fucking bitch you filthy whore you dirty goddamn deceitful cunt._

He feels alive. It’s time to fuck the pain away. He pulls the gun out of her mouth with a pop and grabs her face by the jaw.

“Time to get fucked, bitch.”

He motions to the couch with the gun and then tosses it aside, and when he’s got her on her knees with her hands gripping the back of the couch, he dispenses with his jeans and boxers and grabs a rubber off the table.

“Can’t be too careful with a dirty little slut like you.”

He rolls it on and he’s rock hard and ready.

“Admit it,” he says. “Say you’re a dirty little slut.”

“I’m a slut for your cock,” she says.

“No.” He pulls her toward him and slides the tip of his cock through her wetness. “You’re a slut for Bill’s cock, right? Can’t get enough of it. Made a god damn baby with it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you think, if I tried really hard, I could fuck it out of you?”

“Do it,” she says. “Please.”

He grabs her hips with bruising pressure, shoving himself inside of her until he runs out of room. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw and fucks her like he wants to tear her in half. She’s faking it like the worst kind of porn star and he grabs a handful of her hair.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He already wants to be finished but he’s got a bit to go and those unwelcome thoughts start to creep in.

_Grab her by the throat. Stick it in her ass. Fuck her bloody._

He has to take a beat and shake his head to try to stop them but they just keep coming.

_Choke her out choke her out choke her-_

He lets out a half-scream half-grunt and punches the wall next to her head. It hurts like a motherfucker but it feels so good—one half of the release he needs to fall into a dreamless sleep. She doesn’t flinch, bless her, and within a minute he finishes with a few unceremonious thrusts. He doesn’t notice his knuckles are bleeding until he grabs his cock and pulls out of her.

It takes him a minute to remember where he left the handcuff keys but eventually he finds them and frees her.

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asks.

“Right through there,” he says, pulling his jeans on.

When she’s gone he grabs a smoke and is about to head outside when he sees something sticking out of her bag. It’s something that doesn’t belong in the purse of a woman he just fucked for money: it’s a keychain—a small plastic pony with a bright pink mane. He’s still standing there staring when she comes out of the bathroom, all put together again, like nothing even happened.

“So,” she says.

“Right.”

He pays her what she’s owed and when he hands her the cash he looks at her. For the first time since she walked in, he actually sees her: the heart-shaped face, the shallow cleft in her chin, the birthmark at her hairline that’s just a shade too dark.

 _This is someone’s daughter_.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night and he’s late for work in the morning.


End file.
